[Ill.u.s.tration: DAEDALUS AND ICARUS MAKING THEIR WINGS. From a bas-relief in Rome.]

Soon this second pair was done, but the little fellow had to be taught like a young bird how to use them. Many a time if Daedalus had not caught him on his own great wings, Icarus would have gone tumbling heels over head, down, down to the foot of the tower.

Finally, Icarus, too, could sail like a pigeon, and if the night had not been so dark it would have been great fun to see these two new birds fly out of that tower window.

Keeping their wings so close to each other that they almost touched, they flew away over houses and fields. Before the sun came out, Daedalus told his boy to be careful to keep near him. "Don't fly too near the sun, for the heat will melt the wax, nor too low, for the damp will wet the feathers. Keep close to me."

When the morning dawned they saw the men plowing in the fields stop work to look at them. Shepherds left their flocks and ran miles to see where those strange birds were going. No one could tell who they were. It was grand to be so free and to fly so swiftly.

An eagle saw them and flew near. They felt the breeze from his powerful wings, and swifter went their own. The eagle, frightened, turned and mounted toward the sun. Icarus forgot his father's warning and followed.

Daedalus flew on and on, thinking his boy was beside him. Up, up went Icarus swifter than the eagle and swept proudly past him toward the sun.

The next instant he felt his wings loosen and droop.

Just then, Daedalus, who was miles away, turned his head, for he heard the boy call him.

"Icarus, Icarus, where are you?" his father shouted. There was no answer, but the ma.s.s of feathers in the blue sea below told the story.

Flying down, Daedalus searched till he found the body, and, tenderly laying it in the earth he wept that he had ever thought of wings.

The land where this happened was wild, and only savage beasts lived in it, so Daedalus flew away to Sicily. There he built a temple and on its walls hung up his wings forever.

He became so proud of his own success that he believed no one else could invent anything. He was willing, though, to teach others all he knew, and sister, living near, sent her son, Perdix, to him to learn what he could.

This boy was quick to see, to hear, and to learn, and he could invent things himself.

One day when Daedalus was slowly cutting through a log with an ax, the boy showed him how much quicker he could do it with a saw he had made.

No one had ever heard of a saw before, and Daedalus was angry.

"Who told you how to make this?" he asked.

"I brought home yesterday the backbone of a great fish cast up by the sea, and I made this like it, but of iron; that is all," said Perdix.

Another time Daedalus was trying to draw a perfect circle. Thirteen times he tried and failed.

"Take my irons, if you will not be angry with me," said Perdix, and he handed him a pair of compa.s.ses.

Here again was something no man had ever seen. But Daedalus, instead of being proud of his nephew, was angrier than before.

"You will be claiming that you are greater than Daedalus, who first sailed through the air, ungrateful boy," said his uncle.

"I have only tried to help you," answered Perdix.

Not long after this, when the two were in a tall building, Daedalus gave Perdix a push that sent him headlong toward the ground. The G.o.ddess Minerva, who loves learning, saw him falling and changed him into a partridge before he touched the earth. Unlike Daedalus, he has always kept his wings.

Perdix, the partridge, builds his nest low on the ground and stays in low branches. Perhaps he is afraid he may not be saved from another fall if he goes again into high places.

JUNO'S BIRD, THE PEAc.o.c.k

_Roman_

"Oh, isn't it a pity the peac.o.c.k doesn't know that he can't sing? Why doesn't he stop that fearful screeching?"

Little Katie put her hands over her ears to keep out the sound.

[Ill.u.s.tration: JUNO AND HER PEAc.o.c.k. From an ancient fresco]

"You know the peac.o.c.k was once an animal that hasn't a very sweet voice," said Jack.

"No, I don't know, but Charlie Green's pet donkey makes a better noise than this bird. There, I am glad he has stopped."

"Shall I tell you a story?" asked Jack.

"Once upon a time a donkey felt that he was much abused just because his coat was rough and his face and shape were so homely; so he begged of Jupiter to make him into something beautiful. In a short time he was changed into a peac.o.c.k and, looking down upon his fine feathers, began to sing. But, oh, the trouble he was in then! He had forgotten to have his voice changed, too, and it was the same old donkey voice that he had always had."

"That's a funny story, Jack. It seems to me that mother told us that a long time ago."

"Then I know another story of how the eyes came into the peac.o.c.k's feathers."

"You are a queer boy, Jack. Those eyes were always there."

"Oh, no, they were not, Kate. You watch the young peac.o.c.k chickens, and I'll prove my story, or part of it, anyway. Don't you remember that at first they are a dull brown, and then, when they are about a year old, they begin to show a little green? They are three years old before the eyes begin to show in the feathers. You are a queer girl to forget that."

"Well, tell your story, and I will see if it is a good one." So Jack began:

"Argus was a watchman. His great eyes were like green b.a.l.l.s, but with fifty little eyes in each. Yes, he had a hundred eyes, and never more than two went to sleep at once. He could see even better in the night than in the daytime, so he was a fine watchman.

"Once Argus was told to watch a certain prisoner who could not be shut in a room, but had to be left in a field. Not once was he to lose sight of this prisoner. If he did, every one of his hundred eyes would be taken from him.

"Day and night Argus watched, never sleeping except with two eyes at a time. He was as faithful as fifty soldiers.

"But he loved music, and the friends of the prisoner knew it. So they sent some one to him who could play upon the harp and sing, thinking that perhaps Argus might be charmed to sleep.

"This player's name was Mercury, and he was so quick that some thought he wore wings on his feet. If he did wear them, he could take them off when he liked, for he was just a plain shepherd in a sheepskin coat and sheepskin sandals when Argus saw him.

"If he had come with a spear, or with bow and arrow, Argus would have been ready to keep him out, but Mercury was too bright for that.

"No, he was just a plain shepherd, and he sat down in a field near the one Argus was in, to watch his sheep. While he sat there, he played such sweet music that Argus said, 'Bring your sheep into my field and we will watch together.'

"That was just what Mercury had planned. So he was not very long in getting his sheep into the field with Argus. There the two lay in the shade of the trees and told stories, and Mercury played and watched the green eyes of Argus, while Argus watched the prisoner.

"One night Mercury played so softly, so sweetly, that for one minute every one of the hundred green eyes of Argus closed, the watchman nodded, and in that minute Mercury struck him on the neck and cut off his head. Then the prisoner was free. Juno took the green eyes of Argus and put them on her pet bird, the peac.o.c.k."

"Oh, Jack, I don't believe a word of it."

"I don't, either," said Jack, "but these stories are both more than two thousand years old, and I shouldn't wonder if some one did believe them a long time ago."